Haruto nearly stops cold, at that confession. His hand comes to a stop, as he tries to breathe through that knowledge, and when it starts again, it's much slower, largely in deference to Nitoh's claim that he was nearing orgasm. He doesn't want this to be over yet. He slips his other hand over the curves of Nitoh's musculature, along the ladder of his ribs, to rest heavy across his collarbone. "How long," he asks, voice taut. How had he missed it? Nitoh was an open book. His own orgasm tightens his nerves, and he shifts, turning his head to kiss at Nitoh's throat.

He's intent on holding on until he knows. Stubbornness, maybe, or morbid curiosity.